


Cover Your Crystal Eyes (and feel the tones that tremble down your spine)

by Alina_writes



Category: Swan Lake & Related Fandoms, Swan Lake(Nureyev), Лебединое озеро - Чайковски | Swan Lake - Tchaikovsky
Genre: Description Porn, Fluff, Gen, Siegfried is a kid with awesome AWOL skills, Sneezing, but Wolfgang is just better than him, sneaking out of bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 18:59:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5016442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alina_writes/pseuds/Alina_writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s half past eleven. I went to your room and found it empty. What do you have to say for yourself?”<br/>“Um,” Siegfried said, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation.</p><p>Or, Siegfried snuck out of his room, much to the chagrin of his tutor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cover Your Crystal Eyes (and feel the tones that tremble down your spine)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [strechanadi](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=strechanadi).



> This one's for you, Strechanadi! Hope you enjoy it.

  Adjusting the satchel on his back, Siegfried quickened his pace.

  It was well past his bedtime, and the candles in the hallways had all been put out, but the moonlight that streamed through the windows were more than sufficient for the eleven-year-old prince to navigate his way through the castle.

  It seemed to Siegfried that nighttime amplified everything. His feet, usually soundless when clad in slippers, now made a sticking noise with every step he took. His heart was beating so hard in his chest that he was almost certain it would wake the entire castle up. Several times he had to stop and check his satchel, which contained his notebook, his quill, and a bottle of ink, fearing that the soft clinking sounds might betray his movements.

  But it wasn’t just the things about _him_ that were amplified. Far off in the woods that surrounded the castle ground, he could hear the hooting of owls, and a howling noise that, he thought with a shudder, sounded like wolves. Coldness seeped from the marble floor, numbing his feet. The rustling leaves in the wind sounded like a thousand whispering voices, and Siegfried imagined the trees telling each other ancient secrets and stories, sketching invisible lines in the air with branches and leaves.

  Perhaps, tonight, the birch tree in the courtyard would tell its neighbors about a young boy falling off its branches and a young man catching him in the nick of time.

  Perhaps the trees would chuckle in amusement, twigs trembling from the effort.

  Perhaps the trees would remember.

  Smiling at the idea, Siegfried’s eyes came upon the destination of his quest: the door to the top of the south tower. With some effort, he pushed the heavy wooden door open, squeezing through the crack he made, and slid a chest between the door and its frame, so that he wouldn’t get trapped on his way out.

  He had stumbled across this room a few weeks ago, when he tailed a maid on her way to retrieve a particular tapestry. It hadn’t been long before Wolfgang caught on with him and escorted him to somewhere more suitable for a prince, but the room, with its single glass window, had made an impression in his mind.

  The floor was covered with a thick layer of dust, which glowed silver under the brilliant moonlight that washed over everything in this room.

  Of course, if he wished only to see the full moon tonight, he could have stayed in his own bedroom, where the balcony provided an excellent view. However, out of the window of this dusty room filled with chests of forgotten trinkets and drapery, he could see his favorite patch of the garden, the particular area with _the_ pond.

  Nestling on the window still (after a good wipe-down on the surface), he pressed his forehead against the cool glass, and looked.

  The moonlight changed everything it touched, washed away the colors, softening the edges. The bushes of flowers, which were loud with their vibrant blossoms in the sun, now looked like obsidian carvings. The trees reminded Siegfried of the pillars in the throne room, motionless and firm. Winding down to the pond, the little gravel trial he tread every day was glinting silver, shimmering like the Milky Way above.

  A flurry of motion caught his attention. To his satisfaction, he saw that the swans had returned to the pond, and were now gliding across the surface. Being white, they didn’t seem any different than they looked in daylight, and yet Siegfried thought there was something about them that felt softer, less intimidating. From here, he could almost be fooled into thinking that these creature were nothing more than the fragile, helpless things the folklore suggested.

  He pulled the contents of his satchel out. Laying his notebook on his lap, he began to write down the things he saw under the moonlight. He made notes about how colors changed and shapes blurred. Black and white remained true, he pointed out, but the boundaries between them became more insubstantial. On a sketch of the garden, he marked out the things that changed, adding words like “softer”, “chiseled”, and “drained”.

  It felt like a song, a duet between the silence of the night and the scratching sound his quill made.

  He was halfway through making a list of the things that _didn’t_ change when he noticed a shift in the atmosphere.

  “Siegfried?”

  He nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice. Well, his skin remained intact with his person, but the sharp intake of breath, combined with the dust, prompted the loudest, most earth-shattering sneeze he had had in weeks.

  The wooden door was now opened all the way, the chest pushed to the side. Wolfgang stood in the doorway with his arms crossed, looking extraordinarily unimpressed.

  “It’s half past eleven. I went to your room and found it empty. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “Um,” Siegfried said, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation. His wits had abandoned him, as always, and his mind was far too busy taking in the sight of his tutor.

  Already fair, Wolfgang’s hair turned almost white in the moonlight. His sharp features, some smoothed by the silver sheen, others emphasized by it, now bore a striking, close to ethereal air. If it hadn’t been for the glinting blue eyes, Siegfried could have mistaken the young man for a marble statue.

  Wolfgang shifted his stance. “Siegfried, unless there was something on my face, you need to stop staring at me and tell me exactly why you’re up three hours past your bedtime and nearly an entire castle away from your room.”

  Siegfried swallowed. “I wanted to see the garden in the moonlight,” he said in a small voice. “I can’t see it from my room, so I thought…”

  “Hmm,” Wolfgang stalked across the room (which now felt more like a storage closet than an actual room, thanks to Wolfgang and his lanky frame). Wrapping his long, draping sleeves around each arm, he peered out of the window.

  “Well, this is quite fascinating,” he said, turning to face Siegfried. “But you must understand this: when you wander off without telling anyone, chances are that we won’t be able help you should something happened, especially in a remote place such as this.”

  “How did _you_ find me, then?” Siegfried looked up at his tutor, intrigued.

  “Magic.” Wolfgang spread his hands, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “Have you seen enough of the moonlight now?”

  “Yes,” Siegfried gathered his things. “I even made notes!”

  “Excellent. Let’s get back to your room before someone reports to the Queen that we are both missing.”

 

  One month later, a present found its way to Siegfried’s desk. Wrapped in silk covers and framed with fine wood, was a painting of the pond. Everything in the painting, from the shape of the bushes to the glittering trial, looked as if it came straight out his notes. It immediately took the honorable spot above the mantelpiece. Wolfgang made no comments on the painting, but Siegfried made an effort to cause less trouble for his tutor in the following weeks nevertheless.

  Or, he tried, at least.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is inspired many things: listening to Of Monsters And Men's Crystals for a hundred times, seeing strechanadi's post about Swan Lake(or, to be specific, Wolfgang), and my own experience of staying up to see the moon.  
> As always, I own nothing except the idea of the story. The title comes from the song Crystal by Of Monsters And Men.


End file.
